Where Were You Last Night?
by januaryfreeze92
Summary: Watson returns home to Mary the night after he didn't show up to their wedding. Implied Holmes/Watson slash. Stemmed from a "Given" first line prompt.
1. Chapter 1

**My creative writing homework. Not my best work, but I'm pleased for a first Sherlock Holmes fic. We were given the line "Where were you last night?" Luckily I've even been able to write this - We've been given essays galore as of late, so I apologize to those of you waiting on my writing, specifically the readers of _Penpals_.**

"Where were you last night?" she asked him quietly, her usually pleasantly lilted voice broken and fading away into the hazy scenery of their sitting room. The shadows shifted and moved, made alive by the dimly lit fireplace. John could imagine every dark curtain and corner an audience member, watching as he played his part of the unfaithful sinner flawlessly, silently judging his faulty morality. Instead of responding, he sat across from her and poured himself a cup of her tea. It was cold.

"I believe I asked you a question?" Mary's voice shook, betraying the hurt, anger, and frustration he knew he had caused by his absence. He looked up at her and truly saw her for the first time since he had returned to their home - she was still wearing her wedding dress, now wrinkled and stained because of the hours she must have spent in it. Its original white was now faded, she herself now seeming to fade into the scenery of the old house. The dramatic silhouette of her wedding dress disappeared into the shadows behind her where John knew the spectators waited for the scene to begin, but maybe that was the hangover talking.

"Why don't you put on some lights, hm?" he asked her softly, sounding calmer than he should have.

"Because I do not want to put on any damn lights!" she snapped, her shrill voice causing him to hesitate, "Why weren't you there? Did you _forget?_ Was there an emergency, an accident, or did you purposely try to humiliate me in front of everyone I have ever _met?_"

The audience was appeased, their hateful gaze intensifying with every word spoken. He could hear their incriminations - _cheater, adulterer, unfaithful_, all accusations correct because of the foreshadowing in the prior Act. The way he would spend hours at his practice, not returning home until the early hours of the morning at which time he would roll into bed beside his fiance, sometimes still fully clothed and reeking of booze and gambling.

He didn't want to think about it, but he could see it playing out in his mind - their friends and family all waiting until it was obvious he wasn't coming, the humiliation Mary must have felt as the guests unsurely stood up and started to dwindle out of the church. He wondered how long she waited there, perhaps worrying about him. Or maybe she realized and went home, too tired to care.

"You know that is not what I intended -"

"Then what did you intend, John?" she demanded, strawberry blond hair swaying chaotically as her head snapped up to face him.

"Can you possibly imagine what would have been whispered in the streets, the distorted stories of what really would have happened? I'm sorry I embarrassed you, but it's better this that we did not go through with it. It would have ruined your name."

Mary played her part well, holding every beholder's still-beating-heart in the palm of her delicate hand as she desperately wiped at her tears. He finally stood, refueling the fire. Even that longed to punish him, its orange tongues licking at his sensitive skin.

"So you would rather pine for someone who pines for another? You know just as well as I do how that will end," she said, thin fingers knotting themselves. My silence confirmed her accusation.

"And you know just as well as I how unfair it would be to you if I entered a marriage knowing I love someone else."

Her silence left him nervous and clumsy. He dropped the poker as he tried to hang it beside the fire place again, the words repeating in his mind _It's all an act, I love her, it's all an act_.

"But you said - "

"I love you," he said, watching as her breast fell with every exhale, fearing for the pulsating organ beneath, knowing the bad health it was in. He was a doctor, after all.

"Then I don't see the meaning of this."

John looked at her questioningly, finally turning back to look at her from where he was in front of the fireplace.

"I told you before that I don't have very long," she started slowly, her eyes glued to the fire, "Eight months, a year at most. He _will wait_, no matter how he pines for that other woman, he will always be there for you, loving you in some distorted fashion. You'll take good care of me, I know you will. And I know you well enough to know that you will be faithful to me physically. When I die, you'll be free to do as you choose."

Eyes misted in the eyes of the female audience members, all in awe of the martyr before them, and they had to remind themselves _It's all an act_.

"I couldn't do that to you, Mary."

"But could you do it_ for_ me, John?"

His shoes scuffed against the floor, the only sound in the room, the theater.

"I can't promise you happiness," he whispered, sitting before her once more, the shadows flickering with the growing fire.

"But you can promise me _'Til_ death do us part. And we will part._ Soon_."

He didn't need to say anything for her to see his acceptance. He had always just wanted to make her happy, a reason he didn't show up the night prior. The audience began to clap, drowning out Mary's voice as she began to tell him what he would tell their families, her story putting him on a pedestal and making him sound heroic. He didn't deserve her love, her admiration, but he would try to make her last days on earth as happy as he could.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys - this is how I ended up handing it in. A rewrite, not a sequel, though I've gotten requests for a sequel, and I think I will write one after I finish my _Penpals_.**

"Where were you last night?" Her voice was so soft in the almost darkness. Her face turned to greet me, an orange glow cast upon it by the dancing flames in the fireplace. I knew then, as I had always known, that I could not resist her and fell beside her onto the aged sofa. The dress that she must have worn to our wedding the night prior was wrinkled and stained because of the hours she must have spent in it and its originally white color was now faded, reminiscent of how she had been fading out of existence, becoming more and more a part of this old house.

She seemed much too calm for what had transpired over the past few hours, so I reached for my kit, motioning for her to sit up. Mary had been through this numerous times before and wordlessly bent forward as I pressed the hearing-aid against her back, listening to her labored breathing.

"Did you eat yet?" I asked her and she wordlessly nodded, swaying where she sat until I allowed her to lean back once more. In my mind's eye I could see the fibrotic tissue, making a home in Mary's lungs as she held dearly to the life God had given her. "Are you feeling any discomfort in your chest?"

"Are you going to answer my question?" she asked me, but I didn't need to answer for her to know. The shadows shifted and moved across the walls, life seemingly breathed into them by the fire and I could imagine every dark curtain and corner a witness to what would commence, a phantom audience member, watching as I played my part of the unfaithful sinner flawlessly, silently judging my faulty morality.

"Why don't you put on some lights, hm? You mustn't strain your eyes," I said, eyeing the book beside her. I sounded calmer than I should have.

"Because I don't want to put on any _damn lights_. It's three-o'clock in the morning," A few short months ago her wrath would have been hellbent, all consuming, but now it was merely a fraction of what it could have been. And I was half the man I should have been.

Everywhere I went I could imagine witnesses, watching as I walked through the streets, from my practice, away from my patients, to the darkened door that was _not_ my home, _not_ where my fiance was waiting for me. Even now I could imagine every dark curtain and corner a phantom audience member, watching as I played my part of the unfaithful sinner flawlessly, silently judging my faulty morality. They waited for the scene to commence, their hateful gaze intensifying with every word I spoke. I could almost hear their incriminations - _cheater, adulterer, unfaithful_, all of their accusations correct.

"Why weren't you there? Did you _forget?_"

"Of course I didn't," I whispered, the hearing aid still in my hands, its cold metal slowly warming to my body temperature. I didn't want to think about it, but I could see it playing out in my mind - all of our friends and family waiting until it was obvious that I wasn't coming, at which point they would unsurely stand up and dwindle out of the church. They wouldn't have apologized to Mary, not wanting to humiliate her further, just would have exchanged glances with one another, whispering to each other the '_How dare he'_s and the _'If only I'd'_s.

I wondered how long she must have waited there, furthering her father's hatred of me, weeping in the arms of her mother, before she returned home - perhaps to worry about me, or just too tired to care.

Finally, I stood, dropping my medical kit unceremoniously onto the floor and moved to poke at the fire. Even that longed to punish me, its orange tongues licking at my sensitive skin. It was easier if I didn't look at her, easier not to imagine what would happen to her body as time passed. On the outside, not much would change - her weight would drop as she ate less, her exhaustion would become so crippling that she would have to remain in bed, and all would hear her dry cough. On the inside, however, her air sacs would fill with the loathsome tissue, becoming denser and denser as time progressed until oxygen would no longer be able to transfer to her blood stream. I had seen the disease multiple times over my years as a doctor, but this time it was _personal._

"So you would rather pine for someone who pines for another? You know just as well as I do how that will end," she said, thin fingers knotting themselves. My silence would have confirmed her accusation, but I was never one to keep my mouth shut for too long.

"I love you, but it wouldn't have been fair to you. I can't just marry you knowing I also love someone else, especially - " I cut myself off, biting my tongue.

"Especially because of my condition?"

"I _am_ a doctor, after all," I whispered, unable to lie to myself that my methods weren't entirely selfless. All her family knew was that she was going to die, but they didn't have to, _couldn't_, see it as I did. I didn't know how long I would be able to stand it, living in this old house as she died, seeing it from every angle, wanting to love her but also love another.

"Then I don't see the meaning of this," she said, and I turned back to look at her, "We both know I don't have very long. Eight months, a year at most. If he loves you, he _will wait_ as _I_ have waited. You'll take good care of me, I know you will. And I know you well enough to know that you will be faithful to me physically. When I die, you'll be free to do as you choose."

She was once more staring into the fire at my back, its light reflected in her eyes. "I can't promise you happiness," I whispered, sitting before her once more.

"But you can promise me 'Until death do us part'. And we will part. _Soon._"

Once more, I longed to make her happy, and she saw this before I said anything, so I didn't need to. I listened half-heartedly as she told me what we would tell her family, her story putting me on a pedestal and making me sound heroic. I didn't deserve her love or her admiration, but I would try to make her last days on earth as happy as I could. Because I _did_ love her, despite the fact that it was painful to do so.


End file.
